i'll hold my breath if you hold my hand
by commander in blue
Summary: ZC: "Will you pretend to be my girlfriend for the next five minutes?" For the movie challenge, inspired by "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist".
1. fast forward and pause

Here's a secret: I hate Friday nights.

When you run with the sort of crowd I do, even uttering those words is close to blasphemy. Friday nights mean parties at the McHenry McMansion (with posh trust fund babies going wild), reckless behavior at the pier (with try-hard misfits dying for attention), or scouting out clubs to hear new music (with indie bands who think they're the second coming of The Strokes).

Tonight's event featured the latter. Macey McHenry blew off throwing her weekly bash to drag our little group of the usual suspects (me, Bex Baxter, Liz Sutton) to The Basement, a rundown music club hosting an open mike night. That's Macey for you. Give her a good beat, dark lighting, and a dirty musician to fawn over and the girl goes mad.

The Basement was exactly as I expected it to be. Small, smelled strongly of sweat and cheap perfume, seizure inducing strobe lights, and pseudo-deep lyrics echoing through the air courtesy of the underground band du jour. Unimpressed doesn't begin to cut it.

From the moment we stepped in the venue, the four of us drifted our separate ways to spend the evening doing what we've done at every other club. Macey immediately takes a seat in the front row. Her bright eyes informed me that she—like half of the other girls here—have eyes for the guitarist of the band playing. But Macey's making plans, you can see it in her smile. One half-glance in the boy's direction tells me everything I need to know about him: I'm not interested.

Bex, always the cool one, takes a seat towards the side, sipping her water and intently listening to the music like she might not ever hear these four chords again. Good girl Liz sidles up to Macey, making sure that it's water in her bottle and not vodka, even if it means sacrificing her night in return.

I stay in the middle, it's the safe option. Get too close to the front and the chances the band might sweat on you increases and you might as well be wearing a "groupie for hire" sign on your forehead. Stay in the back and you're forced to hear the tired conversations of hipsters and musical snobs, each and everyone claiming that they heard this band before they ever played here.

"This band is killer," a girl, who couldn't have been older than fourteen, coos to me. Her heavy eyeliner and revealing clothes made it obvious she was trying to look older. The club was seventeen and up, and who was I to talk? People still thought I was fifteen.

I shrug. "They're decent." And I meant it. The lyrics were good, but nothing special. The singer's voice bordered on screechy, while the bassist and the guitarist looked unsure of themselves. The only competent player was the drummer. He was so preoccupied with maintaining the pounding beats that I doubted he noticed the hordes of girls eyeing him with desire, unlike the guitarist. At least you know he's in for the music.

"We are Lost and Found," the lead singer roars, only to have the audience scream back with more enthusiasm. "You've been a great crowd! Good night!" Despite the calls of "encore, encore", the band packs up their instruments to make way for the next band. Even the crowd can sense that the next band is your standard indie fare: acoustic guitar players pretending to write insightful words about seeing the world. It's been done.

I take this opportunity to reconvene with my group in the corner. It's a ritual of ours: after we hear a set, we all discuss the merits of the band's lyrics (Bex), musical skills (Liz), looks (Macey), and general aura (me). I'm sure if we put our minds to it, the four of us could start a music magazine for the club scouters.

"Gotta say," Bex began with an amused expression, "it wasn't terrible. I'd see them again, hell, maybe even buy a demo from them."

Liz nodded her head. "The drummer was pretty good, he definitely made the others look better. The arrangements in the songs were unique, too." Liz was our little band geek: piano, clarinet, flute, you name it. She had a better ear than the rest of us, for sure.

Macey was suspiciously quiet. "Do you think the guitarist has a girlfriend?" she asked with hint of worry. Macey McHenry doesn't do worry. She is impossibly relaxed about boy problems, and she's most definitely a pro when it comes to dealing with musicians. This was an unsettling change. "He kept looking at some girl in the audience."

"Nine times out of ten, Mace, that girl is you," I tease with a grin. "I'm gonna go get some water. Be right back."

In the last five minutes, it seems like the number of people in the club tripled. There was a large crowd around the band that just played, Lost and Found. The sentimental side of me loved watching new bands get (often rabid) fans, but the cynic in me doubted that the band was getting attention for their musical merits. This usually makes it hard to enjoy music, when you stand so precariously between admiration and realism.

The air was suffocating to say the least, the smoke seemed to envelope everyone in it's tight, asphyxiating embrace. The band playing insisted on using seizure inducing strobe lights to distract from their lack of talent, which only clashed with their wannabe chillwave music. It also made it impossible to see anything around me. This night was crashing heavily on all of my senses, and I wanted nothing more at that moment to curl up and—

"Will you pretend to be my girlfriend for the next five minutes?" A guy's voice cuts through the music, and it takes me a split second to realize that the guy is Lost And Found's drummer, and he was directing that question to me.

Before I have the opportunity to respond or even stammer like an idiot, Drummer Guy leans in and places his lips on mine. It happens so fast that I can't even properly react, like my brain decided to shut off and let this strange boy kiss me and ask me ridiculous questions. It's like fast forwarding a movie until the end, and wondering where the hell the middle went. Except this is in real time and I can't pause to think about what's going on. Pathetic. Three seconds in, and all I can think is, "Who is this boy and why is he kissing me? More importantly, why am I kissing him back?"

Here's to Friday nights.

* * *

**an: so yeah, i just watched "nick and norah's infinite playlist" (the book was way better) and i kinda felt like writing a zammie for the movie challenge thing. this sucks, i know, but bear with me. i'm still rough at this. **

**i'm halfway through a bex/grant story for this challenge, so watch out for that.**

**not sure how i'm going to continue this, seeing as i only planned for the whole "will you pretend to be my girlfriend? -kiss-" part. i don't plan very well in advance.  
**

**yeah. this AN is strange, ain't it? ah well, tell me what you think :D you all are pretty damn fantastic.**

**peace out, cub scouts,**

**-asha :D**


	2. but its better if you do

**[him]**

When you're in a band playing in a new location, the most crucial moment is the final note of the last song to the split second before the audience decides your fate through applause or jeers. It's the difference between you being labeled as a cheap high school group or a certified band of musicians. It's the difference between being a bunch of guys with a guitar or being something. And you better believe it makes for a heart pounding set.

Not that I'm exactly stressed or anything when we play The Basement's open mike night on Friday. Lost And Found is a machine. You've got my partner in crime Jonas on the guitars, who plays the instrument like it's going out of style. Grant sings lead and also plays the guitar, he's more into the rock and roll lifestyle than any of us. We got Mick Morrison to play the bass. She might be a girl, but to be honest, she plays harder than any of us do. With me on the drums, we can't be stopped.

There's no reason to be nervous tonight, I keep telling myself as I thrash out on my beloved drum set. We're playing good, and the crowd seems hooked. Sure, Mick and Jonas look a little nervous, but they're playing like we're practicing at home. Grant's got all the ladies eyes on him, which distracts him from his singing, but it's a solid effort. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

Wrong.

Because somewhere between the last chord and the audience's reaction, I catch a glimpse of her.

Tina Walters.

Like all movie villains, I feel like there should be some sort of foreboding music or a thunderclap when I see my ex-girlfriend. Girlfriend of ten months. Ex-girlfriend of two weeks, but feels like two hours.

And it's like, _shit_, of all the music dives she had to walk into, it had to be this one. Fact: she hates my band's music. Hell, she doesn't even like music that much in general, save for whatever Katy Perry is out at the moment. To make matters worse, she's all over some pretty boy she probably picked up from the Young Business Leaders of America at her posh private school.

It's just insulting.

But here's the thing about Tina Walters: she's cute. Petite, yet curvy in all the right places. Eyes so big and round that she constantly looks like a surprised anime character. Hair I used to run my fingers through.

When you're as cute as she is, you can get away with almost anything. If you ask any of my friends, she treated me like utter shit for ten months while II was too whipped to notice. So, I let her get away with trash talking my band. And calling my overall taste in music "too obscure and weird". And letting her cheat on me that one time when I went to a music festival without her.

But _fuck_ if I'm going to let her bring her Young Business Leaders of America boyfriend and her cute anime eyes to this club and ruin my night. It's just not happening.

Mick catches me staring stupidly at Tina. She rolls her eyes. "I thought there was a strict no animal policy here," she grumbles. Mick never liked Tina, none of my friends did.

"Help us get this crap down," Jonas yells out at us over the chatter of the audience.

This time, I'm too distracted by Tina. She sees me, that's for sure. The knowing spark in her eyes is there, like when she gets a piece of good gossip and must share it with me. I don't even go to the Gallagher Academy (Blackthorne High School does the job), but I probably could tell you about the sordid sex lives of the A-list there. Anna Fetterman?_ You vixen, you._

Now, she's waiting for me. You don't have to be a psychic to see what's going to happen next: the inevitable break up gloating. She's gonna waltz up to me with that familiar toothy grin of hers and shove her new clean cut, polo wearing boyfriend in my face, all while asking me if I was "really, truly okay with this"—

"Zach?" Shit. She's right in front of me, holding on to the peppy douche-off like she can't stand properly on her own. She looks nice yet disheveled, the way she liked to look when we hit up underground scenes. I'm almost falling in love with her again (not that I stopped, I don't think) until I realize she's wearing my shirt. My favorite shirt that says, "LIVE UNTIL YOU DIE", faded from the wash. In a lapse of judgment, I let her wear it. I didn't think I'd let her keep it.

She makes things so much harder than it needs to be.

Stepping off the tiny stage, I put my drum kit suitcase down and try to look nonchalant. "Hey, Tina," I force myself to say. I refuse to look at the guy who's all over her.

She sucks her teeth, a compulsive habit of hers. "You played really well tonight."

"Thanks." You''re playing yourself pretty well tonight if you think I'm letting you get to me.

My cool tone doesn't faze her. So, she pulls out plan b: boyfriend. "So, this is Josh," she says warmly, as she beams to the guy next to her. He's such a sap, I could sense it from miles away. "Josh, this is Zach. My ex-boyfriend." She says those last two words with such confidence in it's certainty, meanwhile I'm still mulling the words in my head.

"Hey," he greets dully. I just nod in reply.

Tina's looking a whole more smug now that she's introduced her secret weapon. Gloating is just necessary at this point, I can't blame her. "So," she practically purrs, boring her deep green eyes into mine, "are you here with someone tonight?" Every syllable is punctuated with a healthy dose of contempt and a serving of "suck it, Goode" on the side.

"Well, uh," I manage to cough out, "hey, I'll catch up with you later? I gotta help the band load the instruments." With that, I turn as quickly as I can away from her and head in the opposite direction. But it doesn't even matter if I frolicked away while breaking down in tears: she won the break up and she knows it. And people say musicians get all the girls.

_Walters: 1, Goode: 0_

I'm halfway across the club when an idea hits me. Why the hell should she get to win? Why the hell to I have to wallow in the breakup like a little baby? Fuck that. I'm single, aren't I? No more turning down ridiculously good looking girls because I had one who treated me like alcoholics treat their livers: terribly and taken for granted.

But then, that idea grows into something else. Tina asked if I was in a relationship, right? Well, I can move on just as quickly as she can. I only needed a girl for five minutes to shut her up. It's a matter of pride. The least I could do is mess with her head with a little bit.

It's just a matter of finding a girl.

My eyes dart around the club. There are tons of girls, but I needed a certain kind. I ignore the pretentious indie chicks, wannabe hippies, and any girl current making out with someone. I'm not a sloppy seconds sort of person.

It leaves me with four girls.

One of them is tall and gorgeous. Legs that go on for days and eyes so blue you could swim in them. She's making eyes at Grant, though, so I'm not going to go there. But, Grant's making eyes at the dark-skinned and dark-haired beauty next to her. He just has to take all the girls, doesn't he? The waifish blond looks like she could break at any moment, not exactly my cup of tea.

My eyes settle on the last girl. She's average looking at best, with a nondescript face and demeanor. There's nothing outlandishly special about her, except for one thing.

_She doesn't look like she could break your heart._

So, I wait around for a little until I can get her alone and spring my proposal on her. "How would you like to help me screw with my ex-girlfriend's psyche?" doesn't have a ring to it, but it's getting there.

Four minutes in and I'm starting to get impatient. I mean really, Tina isn't going to stick around for ever, and if I was going to do this it needed to be now.

Thinking like that turned something off in my mind. Like the ability to make good decisions under pressure. Who cares what it was, all I knew was that I've wasted ten months already. I'm not going to waste any more.

The second the girl separates from her group, I decide to make my move. She doesn't want to be here, that's for sure. But I can't shake the feeling that either way, doing something this crazy will make this night one to remember.

I don't wait for a proper introduction. Just tap her on the shoulder and say, "Will you pretend to be my girlfriend for the next five minutes?" She's so shell shocked and I'd bet my left kidney nobody's ever said something like that to her.

But wait. From the corner of my eyes, I see Tina gazing at me from afar curiously. Challenging me. I can hear her doubt from here.

It leaves me no choice but to go in for the kill. Before the girl has any chance to answer, I kiss her with all the pent up emotion I've been stifling these past weeks. For once, I'm not thinking, just doing. And the look on Tina's face when she sees us sums it all up.

_Walters: 1, Goode: 1_

* * *

**an: this AN is short. thanks for all the reviews, guys, they really mean a lot :)**

**tell me what you think, yeah?  
**

**-asha :D**


	3. view from the aftermath

**[her]**

Let me explain my history with boys for you: there is none.

Okay, I'm lying. There sort of is a history, a very small one at that. It's more of a tiny speed bump in the fast lane of adolescence. Not like Anna Fetterman's history, which would need an abridged edition on Sparknotes.

There was Mark Patelli, an adorable senior who talked to me a lot when I was a sophomore, until I found out from someone else that he was just trying to prove a point to his friends that underclassmen were notoriously simple to crack. There was Dev, the hot bassist of the band The Men On the Moon, that Macey dared me to make out with on a particularly boring night. There have been a few other boys, of course, but they were all just there. Nothing special at all, except that they were all disappointing—whether they were too immature for their age or didn't know how to kiss properly without chewing my tongue off.

When you're friends with people like Macey or Bex, who can only be described as _dynamic_, you tend to get a little bit lost in the dating shuffle. Macey's the wild child who gets the guys immediately interested in her devil-may-care ways; Bex is the cool and collected mystery that some boys are dying to figure out. Hell, even Liz's genuine good girl self attracts the occasional rebel, who wants to see if he can corrupt the cutie (and he won't, if the rest of us have something to do with it.)

But me? I don't really have something notable about me, like them. I've got two good cards in my hand: my taste in music and my ability to blend in. Sometimes I think I'm a bit like the boys I have so much disdain for, I'm just there.

Or at least I was. Until that one guy, you know, decided to maul me with his mouth after asking if I would pretend to be his girlfriend. What ever happened to, "hey, you look very pretty, may I escort you to a movie and possibly hold your hand?" I'm like a magnet in the way that I can attract the crazies.

Here's the kicker, though: It takes me a minute to realize that Drummer Guy is kissing me, a second to decide how shocked I am on a scale of one to ten (15), and then three seconds to punch him in the stomach as hard as I possibly could.

I guess I have another card in my hand: the ability to go ape-shit angry within seconds.

"Fuck!" he cries out, doubling over and clutching his abdomen. A small crowd of people has surrounded us, all watching with a strange sort of glee.

"What?" I can't help but screech, ""what the _hell _was that?" The blood's pumping to my head so quickly it hurts, and I can feel my fists clenching to begin round two. Drummer Guy steadies himself once more, and just as I'm about to have a go at him, three sets of arms restrain me and drag me away.

"Cameron Ann Morgan," Macey scolds as she, Bex, and Liz try to get me to stand still. A few interested onlookers followed us, but Bex gave them her ice cold glare and they made the smart decision and walked away. My heart was beating in my ear, and I was literally beginning to see red around me. "Someone explain. Now."

"A boy kissed her," Liz says simply, "and then she sucker-punched him." Damn Liz and her highly observant self.

Bex and Macey are silent for a moment, just taking in the shocking information, until they look at each other and burst out in a fit laughs. Bex's grabbing on to the table because she's giggling too hard to stand properly; tears of laughter make mascara and eyeliner run down Macey's cheeks, only she's too hysterical to care.

Bex inhales deeply to calm herself down, but can't fight back a grin. "Hook-ups, Cam, you're doing it wrong."

"It wasn't like that!" I yell exasperatedly, still seething. "He just kissed me out of nowhere after propositioning me to be his fake girlfriend!"

"Sounds like a very mild form of prostitution," Macey says, in a mock-serious voice, "did he offer you any money?"

I couldn't believe it, my friends were actually amused with what just happened. They should've been up in arms, consoling me and promising to kick the guy's ass. Instead of repeating everything I was saying in rude voices that sound absolutely nothing like me, they should've been gathering guns and knives to defend my honor. That's the true meaning of friendship.

"Ass-hats," I grumble, "you're all ass-hats." Of course, they all chuckled heartily at my anguish, making over-exaggerated kissing noises like the mature high school seniors they were.

Once the three were done having a good laugh at my misfortune, Liz says, "Actually, the drummer guy isn't that hideous." For Liz, that was a pretty high compliment. Unless a boy happens to be a real-life Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid, she doesn't really have much interest.

"He's not hideous at all," Macey declares, turning around and openly staring at him. Drummer Guy is deep in conversation with the lead singer from his band, occasionally gesturing over to our corner of the room. Drummer Guy's expression is unreadable, but his friend's eyes are glued to Bex. I guess his friends are just as consoling as mine.

Macey makes up her decision on Drummer Guy quickly. "He's hot, in a chiller-than-thou sort of way. Like in a Dev way." I can't help but cringe as she mentions Dev, he's a very short chapter of my love life that I'd like to forget.

"Why did he ask you to be his girlfriend, anyway?" Bex queries. How can she not notice the guitarist blatantly checking her out? "Guys who look like that are never single."

"Because most girls don't like to be surprise-kissed by a complete stranger." I look back him across the club and try not roll my eyes. "And he looks like a douche."

"And you looked like you were pretty into it. At least until you, you know, decked him in the stomach," Liz quips with a tiny grin. The traitor. " Sorry, Cam," she says sheepishly as she hears my gasp.

Macey's eyes light up. "Ow ow, Cam," she whistles, "you're gonna give Anna Fetterman a run for her money."

"That's the insult of the century," I scoff, "you take that back, McHenry. And all of you—" I point at each one with a little too much gusto, "I'd like to leave this shitty club, go home and watch a movie, and forget this night ever—"

"Hey, ladies," a guy's voice cut into our conversation. The four of us are a little taken back, as it's the lead singer from Lost And Found. Up close, I can understand why so many girls were fawning over him. He was tall and good-looking, with unkempt sandy blond hair and dark eyes.

"Uh, hi?" I force myself to say. I hate him by association, it's just the way things work.

He takes my obvious disinterest it as a cue to go on. "Name's Grant, and I was just wondering if you guys enjoyed our set tonight?" He directs the question to Bex mostly, leaving Macey and Liz to exchange impressed glances. If Mace was jealous, she was brilliant at hiding it. Though I doubted it, given the fact that guys from a few other bands had been eyeing her all night.

Bex shrugs easily. " S'alright," is all she says.

The boy smiles widely, like she gave a detailed speech praising his band's musical talents instead of a bored, one word answer. "Great, thanks." He pulls his eyes away from her and says to all of us, "Are you guys heading to the show at Salvatore's tonight?" His voice is quiet and low, like he doesn't want anyone else to hear.

I don't blame him. The four of us gasp simultaneously. See, Salvatore's club is a really exclusive place. Legend says that it's owned by some anonymous music mogul who likes to play all of their new bands there as a test run. So many great underground bands have skyrocketed to the big leagues after playing there. What sucks is, Sal's is only open a few times a month and when it is, it's at an undisclosed date and it's madness to get in.

We had to go.

Liz's eyes widen in shock. "Who's playing?" she whispers.

He shakes his head. "Don't know, nobody knows yet for sure," he takes a sip of his drink, "but I do know it's going to be amazing."

I open my mouth to say something, but then out of effing nowhere, Drummer Guy appears by my side. Having realized who it was, my face scrunched up in anger and I could feel all of the anger rushing back to my blood stream. Unfortunately, Bex and Macey put two and two together and figured out that this is the guy I'm so pissed over and I guess their laughing fit came back in full force.

I repeat,_ ass-hats_.

"Hey man," Drummer Guy does that weird nod of acknowledgment that all guys are wired to do. "Telling the masses about Sal's?"

"The music's got to be shared, Zach," Grant responds, in a tranquil sort of state.

"Don't ruin our chances of getting in," Zach (his name would be Zach, that just screams smug) advises, "you know bouncers always let the pretty girls in before anyone else."

"Which is why I'm not worried about getting in," Grant deadpans.

Zach simply smirks in response before turning back to me. "Can I talk to you?" he asks in a quiet voice, obviously trying not to attract any more attention like our last encounter.

"That depends," I huff as I cross my arms across my chest, "are you going to attack me with your lips again?"

"You attacked me with your fists," he pointed out, gesturing to his stomach, "I think we're even."

I snort. "Far from it, you asshole."

"Far from it, trust me," he replies with a slight spark in his eyes. Not that I'm looking into them or anything. "Look, can you let me explain, please? Away from all this madness?"

I look around to the so-called madness around me. People are chatting away, including my friends and Grant. Nothing around the club has changed: the air is still smoky, the crowd balances between the extremes of pretending to be too cool and getting into the music. A new band is wailing on the guitar, and the pulsating drum beat combined with the beat of my heart make for one strangely rhythmic combination.

Nothing's changed. I can fix that.

"Five minutes," I answer hoarsely to Zach, "five minutes to explain yourself." The lights suddenly dim, and I can't see anything anymore except for the extended arm of the boy who turned this night upside down.

I take it, and let him lead me out from underneath the madness.

* * *

**an: sorry for putting off this update! life's been pretty hectic here, i've suddenly got to start caring about my grades and such. it's not very fun, let me tell you. but i made this chapter longer to make up for it :)**

**not much else to say, except be sure to check out my new story "the kids are all right" which is a next-gen written by me and my fab friend em. /shameless plug.**

**oh yeah and reviews? that would totally make my day. and i adore you all for the snazzy feedback i've gotten so far!  
**

**-asha (:**

**ps: FF is being a wanker and saying i updated chapter 3 twice and then chapter 4. that is clearly false. so, ignore the mails por favor!  
**


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